


lazy morning kiss

by fireaway



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Morning Kisses, Tumblr Prompt, don't know her, morning breath who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:24:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireaway/pseuds/fireaway
Summary: Lazy morning kisses before Tandy has even opened her eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up.





	lazy morning kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheballetslipperandTheblackhoodie21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheballetslipperandTheblackhoodie21/gifts).

> prompt from [this list](https://tyrondys.tumblr.com/post/188479125329/fictional-kiss-prompts).
> 
> i'm so sad that the show got cancelled, and while i was mourning, i got around to this prompt.
> 
> i still cannot believe we'll never see them kiss.

“Tandy? Tandy, wake up,” someone echoes in her sleep, “I know you can hear me.”

A fond voice eases her away from her dreams, and she gradually becomes aware of the early morning sunlight caressing her face; the warm feeling of the sun tickling her cheeks. A hand gently shakes her shoulder.

The girl hums at the touch. Her mess of golden hair is brushed aside by the soft pads of fingers she knows to be Tyrone’s even with her eyes still shut. With this knowledge, a small smile creeps its way onto her face. 

At the sight of her upturned lips, he makes a noise of disapproval, which only further fuels the rise of her smile. 

“Tandy,” Tyrone whines and tries again, “Come on.”

Her name on his lips this early in the morning sounds like music to her ears and tugs like a dream at her heart, so Tandy snuggles further into the duvet, never wanting to wake up. 

“_Mhmmm smeepin,_” she provides an incoherent reply through the thick blanket of sunlight and cotton. She provokes a chuckle from him, and an image of Tyrone smiling flashes in her mind. It comforts and soothes her; lays her down and kisses her all over. The temptation dangles in front of her, and Tandy is almost convinced to open her eyes so that she can get a good look at the real deal.

“What was that?” he laughs at her mumbling, “Was that even English? You’re _smeeping?_”

She slaps her palm onto her face. “You’re _annoying,_” Tandy drawls, finally mustering enough energy to fully sound out her vowels.

The cloud of grogginess looming over her slowly dissipates the more he laughs at her sleepiness, and the smile ghosting her lips feels at home. All is right with the world when Tyrone laughs.

“Tandy,” he whispers lowly. Goosebumps prickle her skin, and _boy,_ does she melt, “I gotta go. Wake up and say goodbye to me.”

Who is she to deny him? 

Then, she remembers who she is and buries her face into the pillow. 

She’s Tandy Bowen. That’s who.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbles just loud enough for Tyrone to understand. He groans at her stubbornness.

“I’m gonna be late for my interview,” he massages her head, which isn’t exactly helping his case if Tyrone really wants her to wake up, “I’m gonna be late for this interview, and it will be all your fault.”

The smile slips from her face momentarily, and this is how she is reminded of who _he_ is. Her best friend, her port in a storm, her hero, is Tyrone Johnson. And he’s got an interview lined up for an internship within half an hour which means the erratic nerves are bubbling inside of him, ready to explode. His desire to be perfect is constantly nagging at him. The least she can do is kiss him good luck.

Tandy blindly reaches a hand out and giggles when her fingers come in contact with his ear. It is then when his hand finds her face before he uses his thumb to draw slow circles on her cheekbone. She can feel him, loves him without seeing him, and leans into his touch. He is warmer than a duvet, he is diviner than a dream. His desire to be perfect is unnecessary. 

“Good luck, handsome,” she wishes him languidly, tracing his skin until she reaches soft lips at her fingertips.

“You’re calling me handsome yet you’re not even looking at me,” Tyrone points out.

If her eyes had been open, Tandy would have rolled them.

“I don’t have to look at you to know.”

She’s right, and she should say it. However, Tandy feels the shake of his head at her answer, telling her that it’s not good enough. 

“Open your eyes, Tandy,” he lures her with his sweet voice. Tandy lazily plays with his lips underneath her touch. 

With a sigh, Tandy juts her chin and dares him, “Make me.”

She had expected it — the kiss that would wake her body up and light her insides on fire. Kissing Tyrone is always like this, an ignition of every emotion coming to life, like all of her hopes turning into reality. But what she had failed to take into consideration are the waves of bliss and tranquility that follows when she feels his smile against her lips. It washes over her like spring water, blooming like cherry blossoms in April, and Tandy sighs at the sensory overload, the only thought running through her mind is _Ty, Ty, Ty._

“Good morning,” he mutters between kisses, “You look so peaceful when you sleep,” Tandy crashes her lips with his as he continues under his breath, “Almost didn’t want to wake you up,” shifting his head to press kisses into the curve of her neck, “Was afraid you’d pull a dagger on me for interrupting your sleep.”

Tandy pulls away and instantly misses his touch. She flutters her eyes open, finally pulling free from her slumber. 

“Then, why did you?” 

She drags her eyes over his figure. His broad shoulders wear a suit, and a tie rests on his chest in striking professionalism and vigor. The sight of him proves Tandy right. Tyrone is _achingly_ handsome. Anyone who doubts that is a fool.

“I’m nervous,” he confesses before resting his forehead against hers, “But you always know how to make me feel better.”

Sleep still fights at her body and weighs her eyelids down, but Tandy forces them to stay open for his sake.

“You are Tyrone freakin’ Johnson,” she states with such deliberation that the idea of her mumbling incoherently just minutes before is almost ridiculous, “Baller ladykiller, master of space, if not time.”

He smiles at the words she has spoken to him many times before, but every time she says them, she means them. She always does.

“And you don’t need me to tell you all of that,” Tandy whispers slowly and breathlessly, teasing the tiredness in her eyes that continue to threaten her to sleep, “But I’ll gladly tell you whenever you want it.”

Tyrone purses his lips and kisses her nose, and her eyes fly shut at the soft gesture. 

“You think they’ll like me?” his voice eases Tandy back into her dreams.

“If I can like you, then anybody can,” she teases him as she begins to drift off. 

And this is how he leaves her. With a few more incoherences of mumbled sweet nothings in between lethargic kisses. The line separating a dream from reality starts to blur; his lips visiting her in both. He leaves her wrapped in the duvet with a smile ghosting her lips. There is only his lingering lazy morning kiss running through her mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on tumblr: [@rockyblue](https://rockyblue.tumblr.com)


End file.
